To Fine Lady Would-Bee by Ben Jonson

Fine Madame Would-Be, wherefore should you feare,That love to make so well, a child to beare?The world reputes you barren; but I knowYour 'pothecarie, and his drug sayes no.Is it the paine affrights? That's soone forgot.Or your complexion's losse? You have a potThat can restore that. Will it hurt your feature?To make amends, yo'are thought a wholesome creature.What should the cause be? Oh, you live at court,And there's both losse of time and losse of sportIn a great belly. Write, then, on thy wombe,Of the not borne, yet buried, here's the tombe.